One Hundred
by Kissman
Summary: A series of drabbles. Each 100 words exactly. A bit of an experiment.
1. Buttons

_A/N A series of drabbles, inspired by the lovely collections out there by kouw, chelsietea and others. The only rule I've set myself is that they are each precisely 100 words, title excluded. They will all stand alone, but are to be posted in a deliberate order, in the hopes that something additional is gleaned from reading them consecutively. Seven in total. _

* * *

**Buttons**

Her clothing has gotten heavy.

Each morning she dresses the same. Slip, corset, skirts, buttons…all the way up to her throat and down to her wrists. The dresses change, but the habits don't.

She pins her hair back more severely with each passing year. She fears the pins will slip if she doesn't drive them in with more force.

The keys leave a little bruised mark where they swing against her hip. She should move them, but they stay. Penance for a sin she doesn't remember or maybe a warning about a sin she cannot commit.

Nevertheless, she contemplates weightlessness.


	2. Crown

**Crown**

He'd always loved rules. Rules were the foundation on which his empire was so carefully built. The empire she so graciously supported, added to even. They are two sides to the same coin. He is the figurehead, and she is the heart of the precarious world they hold so dear.

They are a pair; complimentary in so many ways that it is sometimes forgotten what is strictly necessary and what is not. In their stolen moments and intrusive thoughts the rules that sustain his kingdom become the bars to his prison instead.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.


	3. Known

_Thank you to those of you that have reviewed so far. I know it is difficult to comment on such short snippets. I am going somewhere with this. I think. _

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**Known**

She knows all of his cufflinks and which ones he'll wear next. He knows her sister's handwriting and when her letters are late.

He knows she won't eat fruit at breakfast. She knows how much brown sugar belongs on his porridge. He knows her tea. She knows his toast.

They know each other's routines. They know preferences and idiosyncrasies.

But he wants to know how many pins he would have to pull out to let her hair down. She wants to know what it would feel like if he crushed his lips against hers.

They want to know everything else.


	4. Balance

**Balance**

It's a tightrope he never planned on walking. One he didn't realize he was on until much too late. He is balanced above a hundred foot drop, knowing his heart would not survive the fall.

Across the chasm he sees her standing at the edge. Not willing to walk on without him. Waiting for him to cross to her, arms outstretched, reaching.

He reaches back, clasping her hand. Letting her steady him. Slowly he inches his way towards firmer ground.

She is patient and so is he. As long as he is holding her hand, he knows he cannot fall.

* * *

_fanfiction dot net considers contractions two words. I'm forced to disagree with them. _

_Thank you for all your support. You're all lovely people. _


	5. Burning

**Burning**

The butler and the housekeeper are gone.

It was only a matter of time. The kindling rearranged ever so many times in the grate, delaying the lighting of the match until the room was too dark and too cold to wait a moment longer.

The butler and the housekeeper are gone.

Consumed entirely by their desires, destroying all that once was.

The butler and the housekeeper are gone.

Out of the ashes a new life is sparked. One forged in their passion and tempered by their love.

The butler and the housekeeper are gone.

But Charles and Elsie burn on.


	6. Rain

_Imagine your OTP kissing in the rain….don't mind if I do…._

* * *

**Rain**

In an instant the sky opens and the rain pours, beating on upturned faces that could not possibly care less. Drenched clothing, soaked skin and matted hair are nothing to them now.

In fact, they will revel in it, flooded as they are in their own bliss. The force of the rain may try, but it cannot compare to the torrential downpour of joy in their hearts.

They know the cloudburst to be a gift. A blessing that removes any chance they had of shame. The cleansing waters streaming from the heavens will wash away all imagination of their sin.


	7. Pulse

_The last one of the set. Posted a week later than I intended, but here you are. _

* * *

**Pulse**

She presses her head to his chest as he pulls her closer. Warmth floods her, rushing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. It's not a feeling she'd ever realized she was missing.

Beat.

Time slips by, marked only by the steady rhythmic sound of his heartbeat. If there is life going on outside their little world, she is blissfully ignorant.

Beat.

For all their declarations, for all their kisses and promises, there will never be anything more reassuring than listening to his heart. Knowing that it has always and will forever belong to her.


	8. Beginning

_From the February ChelsieChallenge Prompts, courtesy of chatelaine-s ._

* * *

The church is the same as ever, and so are they. Dressed in their Sunday best, sided by side as they have been for over twenty years. Mr. Travis mumbles away as he does, and it's the same words they've heard recited by others countless times before.

Except it's not.

Because it is their voices this time. It is his hand she's holding and her finger he slips the ring onto. Her sparkling eyes and his wide smile.

And when they kiss each other for the first time they both sense the subtle shift. Something very old, has begun anew.


	9. Accusation

"You do."

"I certainly do not!"

"I'm sorry, darling, but you most certainly _do._"

She scowls, even as he kisses her cheek.

"It was endearing," he murmurs.

"It is not," she retorts.

"Aha! So you admit it!"

"I admit to nothing."

He moves to pull her back into his arms, but she surprises him by straddling him instead and capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. Her tongue masters his until they are left breathless, the heat palpable between them.

He arches an eyebrow at her.

"That's all very well," he smiles. "But the fact remains, Elsie Hughes: you snore."


	10. Haze

He wakes up before the sun to an imaginary knock, blinking his eyes in confusion.

Something is wrong.

His bed is too big, too soft, and there's a warm body pressed against his.

Her.

In a rush he remembers and his senses are overcome. Suddenly he's engulfed in the memory of what it feels like to touch her, make love with her.

Which would explain his absent pyjama top.

Instead of his feet hitting cold floors and his mind racing to the tasks of the day he breathes a sigh of contentment, pulls her closer, and drifts back to sleep.

* * *

_This will likely be the last of my February drabbles, but you never know. Thanks for the prompts chatelaine-s ._

_For those following along, _Open Thou Mine Eyes_ should be back from hiatus sometime this month. Your patience and supportive messages have been very much appreciated. _


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